


Call Boys Need Love Too

by Brego_Mellon_Nin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brief LIGHT Mention Of Spanking, Call Boy AU, Fingering, Fluff, Humor, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mild Angst, Pain Kink, Romance, Rough Sex, Underwear Kink, Werewolves Are Still Real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/pseuds/Brego_Mellon_Nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles pulls up in front of a big, old house, where the back half is still looking charred and burnt. It gives the whole place a sort of depressed and haunted feel, but well, Stiles is here for a job, so he ignores it and slams the door on his old jeep, trying not to acknowledge how decrepit it looks right beside the guy’s sleek black camaro, and makes his way towards the steps leading up to the porch.</p><p>He barely manages to knock before the door is ripped open and there, in the door, stands the most gorgeous guy Stiles thinks he’s ever seen. He’s like a whole other level of hot, so much that he should be in the freaking Guinness Book of Records for most gorgeous face and perfect stubble ever!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, so here I go again, getting an idea at some moronic hour and meaning to write a short oneshot. Then, woopsie, it takes off like a bat outta hell and before I know what’s hit me, there I am, 20.000 words later. Ah well...
> 
>  **Warnings:** Boy on boy loving - if it’s not your cuppa, skip this one (and the rest of my other stories as well). Explicit sexual content, slight underwear kink included. Very brief and light mention of spanking.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah no, I don’t own Teen Wolf - surpriiiiiiise....
> 
> Thanks goes to my pre reader SimplyMatt, my beta Corey Smith as well as my favorite consultant for late at night freak-outs; [Dragontattoo75](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dragontattoo75)!
> 
> My awesome banner was made by SimplyMatt and I bow to his greatness!

 

 

**Chapter 1**

  
The shrill ringtone interrupts Erica’s perusal of the new underwear catalogue. She sighs and puts the magazine down, reaching for the receiver. Sometimes she thinks she should get another job, but the pay is simply too good and in any other occupation she would get weird looks for gawking at men’s lingerie – yes, actual _lingerie_ , lace and silk and everything! - at her desk.  
  
As soon as the customer speaks she knows it’s one of _those_ guys. The gruff, clipped tone is a sure sign. He is sure to ask for someone willing to do nasty or wildly kinky things. In her head Erica is already listing the possible boys to fill the job. If it’s nothing too weird, perhaps she can send Isaac, but otherwise she will probably need to give it to Stiles. He might be slim and sort of awkward while also looking like he’d be in danger of snapping in a stiff wind, but for some reason the crazy fuckers always love him. If the rumors are true, he can take almost anything up his ass and is prepared to, which is all that is needed to be popular with the type of clientele that this job attracts.  
  
All the customers who call whining about their boyfriends complaining because of their freaky huge dicks, always call back asking for Stiles again. The boy never complains, regardless of the fact he might be walking a bit funny when he gets back. The one dude who once dared ask if Stiles was alright got hit with so much razor sharp sarcasm that he was still spinning an hour later.  
  
Well, Erica is not here to judge, so she answers the phone with all the fake enthusiasm she can muster. The guy introduced himself, but for all she knows he used a fake name, so she just replies with the usual drivel.  
  
“Hello and welcome to The Wolf’s Den, how may I help you?”  
  
There is a snort on the other end.  
  
“Lovely name for your _establishment_ ,” the guy drawls, causing Erica to grip the receiver hard and jab her notebook violently with her pen. She is used to people making fun of her choice of employment, but she has an increasingly low tolerance for guys calling, looking for a good time because they can’t fucking get any elsewhere, and then daring to be jerks about the name of the place they have called as some sort of last resort in order to get their poor giant, or crooked, or _whatever_ dick some relief.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir, is there something funny about it?” she snaps, probably not in the correct, customer friendly tone she has been instructed to always use, no matter what.  
  
The guy obviously backtracks at that, maybe he has figured that pissing off the one who is supposed to find a decent ass for him to subject to whatever his depraved mind wants, is not the brightest idea.  
  
“No, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he bites out. Erica resists the urge to bang her head on her desk. Now she’s a fucking ma’am? God, what has she done to deserve this?  
  
“Never mind, now how can I help you, sir?”  
  
A cough comes through the phone and Erica has to tamp down on a sigh of resignation. Right, so perhaps this one fits better with the shy and repressed category. He could still be a total perv though, so she waits impatiently.  
  
“Umm, do you have someone who doesn’t mind, eh…” Here the guys stops and hesitates long enough for Erica to get annoyed.  
  
“Sir, whatever it is, I can guarantee you I’ve heard worse, so just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”  
  
The guy, Derek, huffs, sort of in between incredulous and amused.  
  
“Alright then, well I need a guy who doesn’t balk at significant penetration and um… isn’t scared easily by weird stuff. Like, well… roleplaying sort of, maybe? I don’t care about the price, just get me the best you have.”  
  
Erica narrows her eyes even though she’s aware the guy won’t be able to see it. She knows that the guys who call are usually not the type who just want plain old sex with cuddling afterwards, but she still gets a bit protective of her boys at times.  
  
“No problem, just remember that paying doesn’t mean you can do anything you want. No hurting our boys!”  
  
This time she gets an actual chuckle.  
  
“What, are you the mama wolf then? No worries, I’ll send whoever back in one piece.”  
  
Erica proceeds to get the address and time and files it, simultaneously sending off a text message to Stiles, telling him he’s got a job later. No way Isaac will be up for handling this guy, but Stiles is both cool with whatever that dude can ask of him, plus less likely to throw a fit. Stiles’ sarcastic approach to everything probably isn’t the best way of dealing, but since he is still acting as rational as can be expected of an active call boy, well, Erica will let him get away with it. He brings in good money too and he needs it more than Isaac, even if the other reasons aren’t enough.  
  
Erica doesn’t play favorites, _she doesn’t!_ However, if she _did_ have one, it would obviously be Stiles.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles is woken by his phone signaling a message. He knows what that means and he groans as he rolls out of bed and pads over to grab the damn thing, reading the message from Erica. He’s got a job tonight and she warns him to be prepared for a rough one, and possibly some major weirdness. Ah well, it’s nothing new really and he drops his mobile on the counter in the kitchen, before grabbing some cereal and milk.  
  
After he’s finished his soggy breakfast he boots up his computer, checking the address he’s supposed to go to in a couple of hours. It’s in the middle of the woods right outside town. He seems to remember something about a fire burning almost the whole family to death like fifteen years ago. Well, something like that could definitely give a guy enough issues to make him need to call a service to get laid. Or to instill some seriously weird desires.  
  
He decides it doesn’t matter, he can handle this. He’s seen more than his share of shit, and even if he isn’t capable of handling it with sarcasm and repression, he has his black belt in karate to fall back on. He had learned self defense early on, it was somehow a part of being a sheriff’s kid, but after his dad had been killed on duty by a freaking burglar of all things, Stiles had needed an outlet and also, learning some combat skills had seemed like a good idea. When he figured he actually had an aptitude for karate, he’d kept on long after he’d been sufficient in defending himself. He is used to being thought of as the klutz, so finding something physical that he actually excelled at, well let’s just say he isn’t ready to let that go yet.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles is driving on a gravel road into the forest, right on time. He has decided to wear a pair of snug jeans with a green button down that he knows accentuates his golden-brown eyes. His hair, which he’s let grow out since college, is artfully ruffled. Erica kind of hinted that the guy might want some sort of roleplay and that he was likely to be one of those with a freakishly huge cock. Stiles knew he always got the rough ones since he never complained about it. The other boys at the Den always looked at him with equal parts of pity and relief whenever he got shipped off to the ones that seemed like BDSM poster boys. He didn’t care. The truth of the matter was that Stiles actually preferred those types. Somehow a good, rough fucking, even the occasional spanking, made Stiles feel better. Perhaps it was a case of being able to let some of the pain and frustrations out. He’d had a lot of those since his father passed away.  
  
Stiles pulls up in front of a big, old house, where the back half is still looking charred and burnt. It gives the whole place a sort of depressed and haunted feel, but well, Stiles is here for a job, so he ignores it and slams the door on his old jeep, trying not to acknowledge how decrepit it looks right beside the guy’s sleek black camaro. He makes his way towards the steps leading up to the porch.  
  
He barely manages to knock before the door is ripped open and there stands the most gorgeous guy Stiles thinks he’s ever seen. He’s like a whole other level of hot, so much that he should be in the freaking Guinness Book of Records for most beautiful face and perfect stubble ever! He had muscle tone in that works-out-every-day-but-doesn’t-eat-steroids-as-candy way that is Stiles’ ultimate favorite. The guys who are so buff they look in danger of popping a few veins every time they move, just makes him want to cringe. This guy is perfect.  
  
Stiles checks he isn’t drooling too obviously and plasters a smile on his face, the crooked cheeky one they all seem to love. Gorgeous Guy doesn’t seem very impressed though, and continues staring intensely.  
  
“Hi, I’m Stiles,” Stiles says, trying to get communication going.  
  
“What do you want, I’m busy,” the guy grumbles through gritted teeth.  
  
Stiles is confused and takes a look around, trying to ascertain that he is in fact at the right place. He is.  
  
“Um, you called for me,” Stiles says, trying for cheery and adding a wink.  
  
The guy actually blanches and blinks repeatedly before he looks Stiles up and down a couple of times.  
  
“I told that receptionist girl that I needed someone, um…” the guys starts, looking decidedly uncomfortable.  
  
Stiles snorts.  
  
“Yeah that’d be me. Whenever they get a call from some guy sounding like he wants to shove half his collection of kitchen supplies up a dude’s ass and then fuck him through the mattress afterward, they call me. So, yeah, here I am.”  
  
The guy now looks a little green and backs up a few steps. Stiles chooses to see the actions as an invitation and walks in the door, closing it behind him.  
  
“Sorry if I creeped you out, my mouth tends to run away with me. But anyway, whatever you want is cool with me, just let me know beforehand.”  
  
Stiles shrugs out of his coat and hangs it near the door. Then he turns to the guy, who is still standing frozen, looking like he doesn’t know if he should flee or if he wants to stay.  
  
He sighs inwardly and gives the guy what he hopes is a reassuring smile.  
  
“So, what can I call you?” he says while sauntering towards Mister Greek Statue. Some of the customers are strangely repressed up to a certain point, when they realize they are allowed to let the beast out, so to speak. Stiles has had his share of dealing with those types, but for some reason this guy seems different. Like he isn’t sure he wants this at all, but sort of needs it. Like he is positive that whenever he tells Stiles what he wants, he’ll either get laughed at or Stiles will flee screaming into the woods.  
  
Greek Statue clears his throat and croaks, “Derek.”  
  
Stiles’ lips crank up into a genuine smile, one that he hasn’t experienced in a while. It seems like such a cliché, so he won’t mention anything, but Derek has always been one of his favorite names, ever. Instead he walks right up to the guy, Derek, and cocks his head to the side.  
  
“Derek,” he says, in his best purry voice and lets his eyes travel down the amazing body in front of him, before asking, “where do you want to do this?”  
  
Derek seems to wobble a bit on the spot until Stiles can literally see his resolve forming, and he grabs Stiles’ wrist, dragging him further into the house and up the rickety stairs. They stop in one of the first bedrooms and Stiles takes a look around. The room has almost no furniture, only an old armchair and a king size mattress on the floor. Well, Stiles has seen worse and he really couldn’t care less.  
  
Dumping his bag containing condoms and lube on the mattress, Stiles turns to Derek and starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting the top three undone before he freezes.  
  
“Umm, so did you want to undress me or? How do you want to do this? Also, I might need to know what it actually is you want. Erica mentioned something about roleplaying, so in that case I’d really need to know beforehand. I once drove two hours to this guy and when I finally got there it turned out he really wanted some slutty lingerie and I didn’t know so I was just in plain blue briefs and he flipped out yelling all over the place. I ended up in a pair of his wife’s lace panties, and let me tell you, they didn’t exactly make it good for me. Not really made to contain balls, those, not to mention a hard-on. Um...“ suddenly Stiles realizes he’s gone off rambling again and snaps his mouth shut, blushing. Blushing! He hasn’t done that for years, he isn’t an innocent virgin anymore after all.  
  
He clears his throat, risks a glance up at Derek, who thankfully only looks exasperated and not all the way to pissed yet, and finishes with, “So yeah, just let me know and we’ll get right on it.”  
  
Derek steps close and brings his hands up to continue on Stiles’ buttons.  
  
“Well, I can take care of this,” he murmurs, still looking down. “As for the rest, well, I am sort of large and for some guys it can be a problem. I, ah, I sort of grow more when I’m inside, and it’s too much for most. Also, I can get kind of rough, clawing when I get real excited, which isn’t something the regular one-nighter will put up with either. With regards to the role playing, that’s not really what it is, but I do get kind of wolfish during sex, so I thought you should know that as well. And um, is cuddling a problem? I know sometimes certain kinds of intimacy is out of bounds with you-“  
  
Derek abruptly cuts himself off, looking really ashamed. Stiles guesses he was about to refer to call boys in general, in a less than flattering term.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, man. Cuddling is fine, but I’ll have to charge for the time you want anyways. I’m not some sort of Pretty Woman hooker, but kissing is not something I usually do on the job. Though, if you really want it, we can probably figure something out.”  
  
Derek cringes, like he doesn’t want to be reminded that this is not a grand love affair, but actually paid-for-with-money sex. Or it’s about to be. Stiles decides that he knows enough now and deftly pulls Derek’s shirt up and over his head. When he’s free, Derek’s hands are right back at Stiles’ buttons and when he’s done, Stiles lets him push the green shirt off. They attack the other’s jeans’ zippers at the same time and in short order, they are both shoving fabric out of the way. Stiles’ eyebrows hike up his forehead when he sees that Derek goes commando. Well, he isn’t about to complain about it, so when he gets his own legs free of the tangled jeans, he drops to his knees in front of Derek and licks a stripe up his thigh towards his groin.  
  
Derek’s cock is certainly large, even when it’s only half hard, but Stiles has seen bigger, and he is determined to make Derek forget the fact he is usually getting rejected right about now, merely because of his size. He keeps in mind though, Derek said he grows more later on. It’s not exactly a phenomenon Stiles is familiar with, but well, he’s heard freakier things and he isn’t scared.  
  
Usually Stiles gets compliments for his oral skills, even though he’s had the misfortune of a few guys stopping him midway through to scold him for being dog-like in his approach, something with licking and sniffing, but hey, Stiles has his own methods and Derek said he was wolfish in regards to sex. A wolf was sort of like a dog, right? So he figures, if he’s ever going to be doglike, it’s now. With this in mind, he noses his way to Derek’s groin, keeping his hands low, caressing the guy’s ankles as he breathes in the overwhelming, masculine scent of Derek’s arousal. He thinks he hears a whimper from above, but doesn’t stop to make sure, he just pokes out his tongue and licks Derek’s balls, still sniffing in. The cock in front of him is now decidedly big, and twitches with each beat of pulse, growing visibly larger every time. It arches up towards Derek’s firm abs and Stiles is sure it’s the most delicious looking dick he’s ever seen. So he decides he wants a good taste.  
  
When his tongue makes a wet, hot trail up the side of Derek’s cock, Stiles doesn’t doubt it’s a whine he hears this time, so he files it away in the drawer of what-Derek-likes-very-much for later use. His superior memory and cataloguing skills are some of the advantages of having better than average intelligence.  
  
When he reaches the tip of Derek’s cock, the tip is poking out of the foreskin and Stiles circles his tongue, pushing the skin back, flicking his tongue under the rim of the head. Derek is making some very whiny sounds and his hands are fisting in Stiles’ hair. Hollowing his cheeks, Stiles takes Derek’s dick into his mouth and slides down far enough that he can feel it hit the back of his throat. The hands in his hair are clenching and the occasional scratch reaches his scalp. Derek is breathing hard and there’s a fine trembling in his thighs that suggest to Stiles, Derek wants to fuck his mouth, but is afraid of letting go and giving in. He is probably used to having to take a lot of care with anyone who is willing to take his dick into their mouth. Luckily Stiles was a fucking curious kid and he pretty much didn’t have any gag reflex left, even before he took up this line of work. Another trait that makes him popular with the sizeable guys.  
  
Sliding his hands up the back of Derek’s legs, Stiles gets a good grip on muscular buttocks and relaxes his throat, pushing forward while also keeping Derek in place with his hands. Derek flinches back a little, making an incredulous sound, but stills when Stiles tightens his hold. Derek _is_ huge, but Stiles doesn’t stop until his nose is buried in soft black curls. He swallows and Derek releases a broken moan, his hips stuttering in small aborted thrusts.  
  
After a few bobs up and down, Derek pulls Stiles up by his hair and as soon as Stiles is upright, Derek crowds him and ducks his head, breathing in Stiles’ neck, nuzzling there, even licking a few times. It feels great and Stiles is nothing if not flexible so he bares his throat, tipping his head back so Derek has easier access. This earns him another whine and a sharp bite beneath his ear. Stiles hisses at that and grips Derek’s hips, pulling him close. He breathes in and marvels at the mix of smells Derek gives off. Sort of woodsy, but with an edge, maybe the lingering smoky smell from the fire has something to do with it. There’s also something musky, sharp, which Stiles has not encountered before. He likes it though. He likes it _a lot._  
  
It’s been a long time since Stiles has felt anything other than friendly interest in anyone, so the way Derek affects him is slightly scary, but no matter what he has a job to do here, and so what if he actually enjoys it? Derek will probably just think he’s getting really good service. So Stiles leans his head into Derek’s which is still in the crook of his neck, licking and biting, and he buries his nose in Derek’s hair and inhales deeply. God, the _smell,_ whatever it is, makes Stiles want to freaking pay Derek to have sex with _him!_  
  
Stiles’ mouth waters and he instinctively licks the shell of Derek’s ear and gives it a soft bite. Derek growls, like a fucking dog guarding a bone would, and pulls Stiles’ head back by his hair. Stiles staggers back and then he sees Derek’s face. He looks pale as a sheet and is looking apprehensively at Stiles, like he thinks Stiles is actually going to start crying out _‘bad touch’_ and run out. So Stiles offers him a crooked grin and raises an eyebrow.  
  
All the answer he gets is a huff, and then Derek pushes him down onto the mattress, following and settling himself crouched over Stiles. Mister Greek Statue’s erection is lined up with Stiles’ stomach, steadily leaking precome that dripples down the trail of hair that leads from his belly button to his groin. His own throbbing cock is still trapped in his briefs and he is vaguely aware of the fact that it’s been forever since he’s been this hard for a customer before they even got either hands or mouth on him. If it’s ever happened really; he has trouble remembering them all. Some of his experiences have been of the variety he’s pushed to the back of his mind to spare his sanity.  
  
Derek has bowed his head and is now licking up Stiles’ stomach towards his nipples. Stiles reaches a hand down and runs his fingers through Derek’s soft, black hair.  
  
“Not that I’m complaining, but you don’t need to seduce me first. If you wanna just fuck me, that’s fine.”  
  
Derek looks up briefly to give him the stink eye, but continues licking without comment. Stiles sighs happily and melts back in the blankets which cover the mattress. It’s not until Stiles has saliva practically everywhere that Derek crawls over him, fishes some lube out of Stiles’ bag and settles on top of him, nibbling along Stiles’ jaw, sending tingles up and down his spine.  
  
Stiles wants to point out that he’s still wearing his underwear, but a particularly wet lick distracts him and then he hears fabric ripping and feels his tattered briefs being pulled out between them and Derek flings them away. Stiles mentally adds their value to the bill, but doesn’t comment on it. It is kind of hot after all. So he settles for gripping Derek’s ass and squeezing hard. Derek grinds down, making their erections press together. Stiles knows how to simulate the right sounds, but he finds that with Derek he doesn’t want to be fake, and he’s truly inspired to make some decidedly not fake sounds anyway, so he lets go and just allows himself to react to what he feels. He is used to keeping himself in control at all times in order not to say or do something which will put the client off, but well, so far Derek seems to only inspire the good in Stiles.  
  
Derek growls deep and low as he rolls his hips rhythmically and Stiles finds himself moaning and gasping along, sounding quite a bit more desperate than a guy like him should be able to. It wasn’t like he went long between getting laid. And usually it was nothing to write home about, though there would be the odd case of someone who actually managed to get a real response out of Stiles. It was mostly the rougher guys, but so far Derek hasn’t been rough at all.  
  
Taking into account how Derek seems to prefer going the animalistic route, Stiles flips himself over and cants his hips back, spreading his legs, offering his ass up. A rustle and a click alerts him before a slick finger pressed against his entrance. This is the part Stiles likes best, when his hole is teased with a finger, the feel of the muscle giving way for the first finger. The slightly weird-feeling stretch, which morphs into that dull ache he finds so calming somehow, so grounding.  
  
Derek uses his finger in slow, steady pushes and tugs a little on the rim of muscle, all in all being very careful, and Stiles gets impatient. He’s used to being manhandled quite a bit and he enjoys the sting of taking too much a little too fast, so he reaches back with one hand and forcefully shoves two fingers in alongside Derek’s. He bites back the initial groan and scissors his fingers, pushing his ass back, straining to get more. He can hear Derek’s breath hitching at the sight.  
  
“Jesus, fuck!” Derek whimpers.  
  
Stiles pants over his shoulder while removing his own digits, “Come on, I can take it.”  
  
The answer he gets is a moan and then suddenly Derek is there, pushing three in deep, making Stiles’ eyes roll in his head. Holy fuck, that’s what he’s talking about. Yes, please! He’s pretty sure he’s begging aloud, but he doesn’t have it in him to freaking care.  
  
Within a few short minutes Stiles is rolling his hips uncontrollably, moaning like a porn star, which he will be embarrassed about later, when he has the brain capacity left to concentrate on it. Derek is breathing heavily, mouthing at his neck, leaving sucking bruises everywhere he can reach. Stiles really should be telling him to knock it off, seeing as paying customers really don’t appreciate their _merchandise_ looking used, so to speak, but it turns him on fiercely and who even knows when he’s going to get the chance to have sex with a guy like Greek Statue here, so he lets it slide.  
  
Derek’s fingers plough into his prostate and he’s seeing stars for a few seconds, unbelievable pleasure shooting up and down his spine, making him curl his toes. It’s almost too much.  
  
“Holy fucking fuck!” he curses, thrusting his hips back, “I’m ready, I’m more than ready, let’s get this show on the road.”  
  
He grabs the bag he’d left by the mattress and dig for a condom, grabbing a handful at random and throwing them over his shoulder.  
  
“Pick one, and put it on, _fast!_ ”  
  
There’s the crackling of a packet being ripped and half a wrapper with ‘ _XXL’_ on lands next to his elbow. A squirt of lube hits between his cheeks and then the low sound of Derek slicking his covered erection reaches his ears.  
  
Strong hands clamp over his hipbones and he is hauled up on hands and knees. Stiles gasps when he feels the wet head of Derek’s cock poking between his cheeks. He wants it so much he’s delirious from the sheer _need_.  
  
“Oh my _god_ , Derek. Please fuck me now! Please, please, _please_!”  
  
It isn’t until Derek grabs his cock and pushes forward that Stiles realizes just how big it’s gotten. He kind of lost track of any erection growth progress when he got fingers in his ass.  
  
Wow, it’s kind of extraordinarily huge. For a moment his breath catches in his throat. Ah, well, Stiles has seen and tried many things, and even the guys with big dicks can have kinks regarding fucking a guy with both their cock and a dildo at the same time, so he’s not too worried, though he might need to set up a brave face for the immediate penetration.  
  
Derek goes agonizingly slow, which can probably be attributed to the fact he’s used to guys getting cold feet right about now, so Stiles grits his teeth and pushes back, trying to both make it easier for Derek and lessen his own pain. Because there _is_ pain. Even a guy as often and well stretched as Stiles can feel this monster going in. Fucking hell, can he ever!  
  
He’s torn between wanting to whimper at the impossible stretch and moan at one of his ultimate favorite feelings so he bites into the pillow in front of him to stop any sounds escaping. Some small part of his brain tries to tell him it’s kind of fucked up that he enjoys pain, but well, everyone has their kinks and with his job it’s only natural he would discover all of his. Who knows how many of the goodie-goodie stepford wives out there, would actually enjoy a good spanking if they got the chance to explore their sexuality?  
  
With a strangled groan Derek pushes the last inch in, and his pelvis meets Stiles’ ass cheeks.  
  
“You okay?” Mister Statue grunts from behind and Stiles nods, adjusting his position slightly, lowering onto his elbows, which makes Derek’s cock nudge up against his prostate. Not that he’d have difficulty reaching it otherwise, but it feels better like this. Stiles exhales on a moan and undulates his hips a bit. The hands on his hips tightens their grip and Derek honest-to-God _growls_. A deep sound that produces small tremors all the way into Stiles’ bones, causing a sharp burst of arousal to tear through him. He feels his erection twitch, a burst of precome erupting from the tip.  
  
“Oh god, _Derek!_ ” he gasps.  
  
Derek whines like he’s in actual physical pain and his hips jerk involuntarily.  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath, instinctually lowering his head sideways, baring the left side of his throat. He doesn’t know why, but it simply seems right in this situation. Sharp teeth instantly clamp down over his pulse point and if Stiles had been unaffected, he’d have noticed the fact that these are significantly more pointy than regular human teeth.  
  
“Come on, just let go, Derek, I know you want to. I can take it!” Stiles insists.  
  
Another whine emerges from the warm body plastered along his back and a very strangled voice answers.  
  
“Don’t wanna hurt you.”  
  
The words are slightly muffled against Stiles’ ear, where the hot mouth of Derek is now biting and licking.  
  
Stiles can’t help it, even in his current condition his sarcasm is never far from the surface.  
  
“Gee, Derek, I wonder why you called for a freaking whore if you aren’t going to take advantage of it. This is not by any stretch of the imagination the worst I’ve experienced. Not even remotely close. The fact that you haven’t whipped out the gags, nine tailed whips and the monster sized dildos to shove in _along_ with your dick is quite a relief I must say, but please do me a favor and stop acting like I’m a fucking china doll!”  
  
Derek snarls and forces Stiles’ face into the pillow, momentarily cutting off his air supply. The small part of Stiles’ mind that still belongs to the geeky sheriff’s kid, tries to pipe up yet again, whining about this not being a thing he should be turned on by, but Stiles ignores it and clenches around the massive cock in his ass, making Derek moan.  
  
“Fine!” Mister Statue snaps and draws his hips back, instantly snapping them forward again, burying himself to the hilt once more. The motion sets fire to Stiles’ nerve endings and it’s like a giant festival of fireworks is going off under his skin. More precome drips onto the sheets.  
  
“ _Ah!_ God fucking _fuck_ , fuck me Derek!” he yells, not caring one bit about the excessive noise he’s making. His reward is a growl and another long thrust. Stiles raises his hands to brace them against the wall and pushes back against the onslaught, keening in the back of his throat when Derek hits his sweet spot repeatedly. Stiles can feel his balls drawing up close and he knows he has to do something, or he will jizz all over within seconds like a fucking teenager.  
  
Since demanding hasn’t gotten him anywhere so far, he lowers his head until his forehead meets the mattress, making his back arch, and begs shamelessly.  
  
“Derek, please, please, you gotta... _please!_ ”  
  
Apparently that was the secret password because Derek wraps around Stiles like a clingy octopus and hauls him back forcefully while pushing his own hips forward. The result is a deep, jolting ache that serves to make Stiles whimper pathetically, as well as delay his orgasm.  
  
The pace they set is punishing - like literally, Stiles is sure he’ll sport impressive bruises tomorrow - and before long his long repressed babbling problem is showing its ugly face. He had worked hard to rid himself of this bad habit early on in his career, seeing as it’s never a popular feature with the guys, but for some unfathomable reason, Derek is making it pop up now and Stiles bites his bottom lip hard to prevent any stupid things from spilling out. There’s a whine, vibrating the body plastered along Stiles’ back.  
  
“Don’t hold back, I wanna hear you,” Derek pants, his breath fanning the side of Stiles’ face. Sweat is slicking the places their bodies meet and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh is loud in the room.  
  
Stiles can’t help a surprised, breathless laugh.  
  
“Yeah right, my babbling powers are legendary... _ah_... I’ll give you that, but it’s not really conducive... _holy fuck_... to keeping any sort of sexy mood.”  
  
A particularly hard thrust makes the air whoosh out of his lungs in a drawn-out moan. Derek’s nails dig into his side and a sharp sting emanates from the point of contact, making Stiles groan and squirm in Derek’s grip.  
  
“Yes, come on! _Derek!_ ”  
  
The rhythmic slapping sound starts faltering, getting slightly erratic and more frantic as Derek starts pushing forward with his whole body for every thrust, like he’s trying to burrow deeper than he can realistically get; like he’s trying to stay as deep as possible. Stiles can feel the burning arousal flaring sharply again, he’s never been with anyone as intense as Derek. Even though some of his previous clients have physically filled him more - with the aid of various toys as well as their dick -  and fucked him harder, none of them have ever quite pervaded Stiles’ whole being, mind and body, from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, like Derek is doing now. It’s like his presence is everywhere, touching all of Stiles, looking at his innermost thoughts, gliding along with the blood in his veins.  
  
Derek’s strangled voice interrupts his musings, “You ready for more? I... _shit_... I can’t hold back much longer. If you want out... tell me now.”  
  
Stiles mentally flails for a moment. More? What more? Isn’t Derek fully erect yet? It had certainly felt that way when he made Stiles’ body yield to a daunting degree. Quickly, Stiles pulls himself together and throws a crooked grin over his shoulder. He gets a quick glimpse of hands with nails which look a good deal longer than he recalls Derek’s being and a brief flash of - red? - glowing eyes before a hand clamps over the back of his neck, tight as a vice, and pushes his head down into the pillow once more.  
  
“Don’t look!” Derek snarls, punishing Stiles with a handful of unrestrained, pounding thrusts. Stiles cries out with every one of them and his hands are scrabbling in the sheets, alternately clawing and clenching.  
  
“God, okay, okay...” he gasps, helplessly pushing his hips back towards the searing pain of Derek’s cock stretching him wide, pulling even more at the rim of muscle with the vigorous pumping of his hips.  
  
The growling which has been making Stiles’ hair flutter, ceases and with what can only be called a _roar_ , Derek pounds forward, causing Stiles to slide several inches forward on the mattress. Just as Stiles is about to lose control over his tongue, close to spilling out a sarcastic question about whether Derek thinks he can actually make his dick come out Stiles’ throat, there’s an additional pressure in his ass and strong arms constrict around his middle. Derek whines sharply, making tiny undulations with his hips, refusing to slip out even a little. The pressure is still rising and when Stiles wiggles a little, he can feel a sort of swelling inside him, growing at an alarming pace. It’s forcing his inner walls to expand even more and the ache is rapidly morphing into a stinging pain, and it just doesn’t stop.  
  
Stiles whines and tries to squirm forward, but Derek’s grip is too tight and even with that, he quickly senses it would have been a phenomenally bad idea, seeing as the half inch he managed, made the swelling tug on his rim, alerting him to the fact it’s already firmly lodged inside of him.  
  
Okay, so this reminds him vividly of a nutjob customer he’d had a few months back, who had a monster fetish and had insisted on cramming highly imaginative dildos up his bum. What had he called the enlarged bases on those? Knots? Yeah, that’s it. So, Derek’s got a knot. Right. Yeah. Not weird at all...  
  
Stiles is breathing hard, his vision blurring from the tears forming in his eyes, prompted by the searing pain of being split open by Derek’s knot. It has finally stopped growing, but the pressure is overwhelming and Stiles can hear the air leaving him in small sobs. He’s not _really_ crying, it’s just so much to take; too much. The pain, the feeling of being stretched so fucking wide and the powerful sense of Derek filling him, _owning_ him.  
  
Then, of course, he has to prove to Stiles it can get even more, better or worse, depending on how you look at it, when he starts to grind his hips as much as he’s able to with the limited movability.  
  
Stiles, and he will probably try to repress this fact later, _screams_ when the sensation of Derek’s knot ramming into his prostate registers and his whole body jerks and shudders.  
  
His screaming seems to have snapped Derek out of whatever haze he had ventured into and suddenly the death grip around Stiles’ middle loosens a bit. His arms are wobbling and won’t hold his weight, so Stiles’ upper body flops to the mattress in a limp heap, his breath still escaping in strained bursts.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ Hngh... holy God!”  
  
“Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounds utterly wrecked and his hands start petting Stiles’ flanks, like he’s trying to ascertain whether he’s inflicted irreparable damage in his rush. There’s a slight twinge when he rakes his hands over the bump of Stiles’ hipbones and he whimpers when Stiles hisses.  
  
“I hurt you,” he whispers.  
  
Stiles twists to look back and sees some shallow gouges by his hips, placed in a half circle, as if caused by clawed hands. When he looks at Derek’s hands, his nails are perfectly human-blunt, but something stirs in the back of his mind. Hadn’t Derek’s eyes been glowing? Perhaps he’d just imagined it, or it could be some trick of the light. With the constant and invasive pain in his ass, Stiles has difficulty focusing and he gives up on his train of thought, reaching back to grab one of Derek’s hands in his own, drawing it up to his face, kissing the knuckles and sucking the thumb into his mouth. He lets it go with a pop and licks the sweaty palm instead.  
  
“I’m alright, feels good. Keep going,” Stiles murmurs, arching his back a bit more, which jostles the knot inside him. He’s not even lying, it does feel good. It hurts, quite a bit, but Stiles has always had an unusual relation to pain and now that he’s had some time to adjust, he’s been able to filter through the sharp sting of being stretched too much and get to the pleasure underneath and it’s saturating him slowly, spreading a warmth through his veins.  
  
Derek seems to hesitate, and Stiles huffs impatiently.  
  
“What are you waiting for? Your dick isn’t gonna provide an orgasm unless you move, now is it? Get your knot in gear!”  
  
The body on top of him noticeably tenses.  
  
“What?” Derek wheezes, disbelievingly.  
  
“ _What,_ what? Your knot, Derek... it _is_ a knot, isn’t it?” Stiles asks.  
  
Derek has started making small hip grinds, seemingly without noticing it himself, but Stiles does. Oh, how he does!  
  
“Um, yeah... it is,” Derek answers, his tone somewhere between bemused and outright stunned.  
  
“Fine, good, get moving then!” Stiles pants, swiveling his hips for emphasis.  
  
“How are you not freaking out right now?”  
  
Stiles actually smacks his head down on the mattress, as much as one _can_ smack a head on the relatively soft material, and groans, “Do you really wanna have this conversation now? Really, Derek?”  
  
He is enveloped in another tight embrace and Derek starts fervently mashing his hips into Stiles’ ass, providing both relentless stimulation of his prostate and tingling shots of pleasurable pain. His poor cock is jerking violently, precome dripping from the tip in a steady flow, and he bites into the pillow again just to have an outlet for the powerful sensations coursing through him.  
  
Derek groans deep and long and shoves his hips forward hard, his knot pulsing so strongly Stiles can actually feel it, and suddenly a flood of warmth erupts inside his ass. Derek is panting and moaning Stiles’ name in a frantic burst of breath and he keeps trying to thrust, all the way through the initial burst of his orgasm. Stiles hasn’t ever experienced a customer who has come so much and for so long; it just keeps coming, increasing the pressure in his ass even more. The abrupt flare of heat makes him shiver and his skin break out in goose bumps. Everything is tingling and when Derek bites down on the skin between his shoulders, hard, and thrusts one last time, Stiles cries out loudly and shoots jizz all over the sheets in thick, long spurts; his cock still untouched.  
  
As soon as Stiles stops trembling, Derek lowers them to the mattress and gently rolls them onto their sides, where he curls up close to Stiles’ back and nuzzle in while drawing a blanket up. Through it all, Stiles can still feel the now lazy flow of come being released from the cock locked inside of him and he pushed back into the warmth of the body behind him, giving a contented sigh.  
  
“How long before it goes down?” he asks.  
  
Derek hums and mutters, “Anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour, it varies.”  
  
“Alright, no biggie. Wow, you’re really hot! Temperature wise, I mean. Well, you’re also completely gorgeous, but I bet you hear that all the time and really, it’s neither here nor there. I’ll just shut up now.”  
  
The only response he gets is a chuckle and before he knows it, Stiles is drifting off, clinging to one of Derek’s muscular arms, his ass still filled to bursting with cock and an impressive amount of come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone rings on Friday evening like it always does, and Erica doesn’t even bother checking the caller ID before lifting the receiver, her nose still in the pages of the sex toy catalogue she’s perusing these days.
> 
> “Hey Mister Grumpy, let me guess... You’d like one Stiles delivered as soon as possible, hmm?”
> 
> Derek growls in response, but she can tell he’s not actually that grouchy. Comes with chatting - however briefly - with people every friday for... how long has it been now? Almost five months? Enough for her to figure out he’s usually more bark than bite anyhow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 folks. Beware of graphic sexual content.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own Teen Wolf... *sniffles*
> 
> Big giant hugs and kisses to my pre reader SimplyMatt and my beta Corey Smith as well as my ever faithful Dragontattoo75!

**Chapter 2**

  
  
Erica is flipping aimlessly through her new catalogue of lace panties, for men naturally, when Stiles pushes the door to the Den open and wobbles in. He’s walking the walk she knows only comes from being fucked sideways repeatedly and for a second she feels bad about sending the kid out to that guy, but they all have to earn money somehow and at least he doesn’t look like he’s about to cry or have a mental break down.  
  
Hmm... Actually he looks really pleased. Almost smug. There’s the crooked smile she hasn’t seen in ages, and she shoots out of her chair to grab him before he goes further back to the office.  
  
“Hey, Stiles! What’s with the bow-legged walk and the goofy expression, huh? Spill!”  
  
A large smile spreads across his face, before he reaches into his pocket and throws a few fifties at her.  
  
“Erica, my love! Here, you have those. Without you, none of us here would know what to do!” he surges forward and pecks her cheek, winks, and leans back on the counter. “It’s been a good night, let me tell you.”  
  
She snorts.  
  
“Yeah, you better tell me! That guy sounded like a real fucked up piece of shit, but with the face you’re sporting right now, I’m guessing he did something right, apart from the huge tip.”  
  
She directs a compelling stare at him, trying to convey the importance of sharing _every single_ detail with her; right the fuck now!  
  
He has the audacity to laugh at her, but she forgives him when he immediately launches into a thrilling tale of perfect muscles, stunning stubble, extra grande cock, and freaking boatloads of jizz.  
  
“So what happened after the sex? Did he get all mean and degrading, or was he one of those who can’t even look at you afterwards?”  
  
Stiles can’t seem to shake the giddy expression.  
  
“Nah, he fucking cuddled with me and we fell asleep! Slept for like two hours and when I woke up he was still there; hadn’t even pulled out of me.”  
  
Erica winces, but he only laughs at her.  
  
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t like that very much, but I love it. Can’t explain why really, it just makes me feel... wanted. Cared for, kinda.”  
  
At her skeptical look he huffs and rolls his eyes.  
  
“Oh, don’t give me that look! I know I’m only a means to an end to him. I can keep my feelings out of this, don’t worry. Anyways, he totally made dinner for me and when we’d both eaten, he just gave me this really intense look and asked for the bill. I quoted him the price, and he gave me almost double before asking how he could get a hold of me again. I told him to call you and simply ask for me. You will make sure if he calls again, he is given to me, you hear? God, I swear my asshole has never been so fucking _used_ and I still want him. The fucker.”  
  
Stiles’ tone turns close to incredulous at the end, and even Erica’s eyes widen a bit. She is well aware of the fact that he is not easily turned on by his customers anymore. At least not in a genuine way, and whoever this dude is she can’t help but approve. She’ll take off her metaphorical hat to anyone who can make Stiles feel real, true emotions, no matter if it’s just lust and desire.  
  
“I gotta run though, see ya later, Catwoman,” he says, in honor of their private batman-catwoman inside joke, before blowing an air kiss and walking to the office to hand in the money from Derek, minus the tip he got, naturally.  
  
Before he disappears from earshot she yells, “Hey Stiles? When am I gonna see you in one of these turquoise lace thongs, hmm? You promised me!”  
  
His laugh echoes off the walls and his answer bounces along after it.  
  
“Whenever you pay me to, bitch! For future reference, drinking me under the table and making me agree to some potentially humiliating shit while I’m trashed isn’t fair at all.”  
  
Erica pokes out her tongue and goes back to her catalogue.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
The phone rings on Friday evening like it always does, and Erica doesn’t even bother checking the caller ID before lifting the receiver, her nose still in the pages of the sex toy catalogue she’s perusing these days.  
  
“Hey Mister Grumpy, let me guess... You’d like one Stiles delivered as soon as possible, hmm?”  
  
Derek growls in response, but she can tell he’s not actually that grouchy. Comes with chatting - however briefly - with people every friday for... how long has it been now? Almost five months? Enough for her to figure out he’s usually more bark than bite anyhow.  
  
“Actually I wanted to know whether I could book him for the whole weekend? Is that possible?”, Derek’s voice says through the tinny phone line.  
  
Erica almost drops the phone and she is not proud to admit she sputters a bit.  
  
“ _What?_ The _whole_ weekend? You do know he needs to be able to walk on monday, right?”  
  
A huff filters through and Derek’s exasperated voice follows.  
  
“Yes, Mama Wolf, I am aware. I didn’t plan on fucking him nonstop the entire weekend!”  
  
Erica can feel the alarm bells going off in her head. Derek and Stiles seem to have developed quite an attachment, considering they are actually customer and call boy. In her experience, this can only end in heartbreak and a big, awful mess and Derek wanting to have Stiles with him for an entire weekend is certainly a step in the dangerous direction.  
  
Unfortunately, she’s only the receptionist and whenever she’s tried to talk to Stiles about it, he’s shrugged it off and called her a hen mother.  
  
“Right, I’ll ask him if he’s amenable and give you a call, shall I? Oh, and remember you have to pay even if you two are only lazing about on the couch! He’ll lose a good deal of paying customers if he stays with you so long.”  
  
This time the growl is serious and Erica swears he’s got the most menacing snarl she’s ever heard; it’s like he’s hiding a rabid wolf inside somewhere, to let loose on poor receptionists when he’s not happy about the turn the conversation takes.  
  
She’s not impressed though, this job involves a fair deal of unpleasant communication, and she merely snorts at him.  
  
“Don’t remind me,” he snarls through the receiver.  
  
“What world are you living in, Grumps? He’s a freaking call boy, of course he’s got other customers!” she sneers back.  
  
There’s a sharp crack, as though something broke and Erica raises an eyebrow even though she knows he can’t see it. When his voice returns after a few deep breaths, it’s strangled and controlled.  
  
“I know, very well. Doesn’t mean I like it though.”  
  
Erica feels exasperated. How come these things always seem to land in her lap? She is paid way too little to deal with these stupid, obsessed, cock hungry guys who fall in love, or lust or whatever, with the men they pay to act like they give a shit. Why can’t they just take what they order and be happy with it? How can they not see that call boys are only paid to care. Stupid idiots!  
  
Not that she hasn’t seen how Stiles glows every time he returns from Derek’s place. He looks like a mix between the cat that caught the canary, and a lovesick fool. It makes her stomach twist with unease. She likes Stiles, he’s a very good friend of hers, and she will hate seeing him hurt, which she’s sure he will be. How could this mess ever end well? Derek seems to have a lot of possessive tendencies and Stiles has sex with men for a living!  
  
Gritting her teeth, she speaks politely into the phone.  
  
“I will make sure your request is passed on, Mr. Hale, and get back to you as soon as I can.”  
  
As soon as she hangs up she’s got her own phone out, sending a text to Stiles while internally cursing her luck. Unless he’s got some sort of appointment that can’t possibly be postponed, he will be jumping up and down in excitement about this.  
  
Indeed, within two short minutes she’s received an affirmative and she calls Derek quickly to let him know and then flees into a world that will never disappoint her - her toy catalogue.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles is pretty sure he’s figured it out now. The small clues and hints he’s caught in his time with Derek all point to the same conclusion.  
  
His first clue had been the fact that Derek has a freaking knot! Like dogs, an _actual_ knot. Then, there had been the elongating nails, the glowing eyes, which he’s seen on several occasions now, even though Derek tries his best to make sure Stiles can’t look at him whenever they have sex, and something undefinable feral about his behavior. Just small things, like how he usually smells the air before bothering to use his eyes and look, or the lightning fast reflexes he sometimes employs, just to suddenly turn extra slow, as if he seems to remember it’s a trait he ought to keep hidden.  
  
All in all, Stiles got very curious _very_ fast and if there’s something he sucks at, it’s letting intriguing things go. He has a long history of poking the metaphorical sleeping dragon, or well, more like jabbing it with a barbed spear really.  
  
Since his first reaction to anything weird is research, Stiles immediately went to google for answers and after extensive sorting out of the many useless links, and trimming down the interesting ones, he’s left with two possible answers.  
  
Either Derek is some kind of alien life form... _or_ , he’s a werewolf.  
  
Which has Stiles flailing like he hasn’t done in years - he’s not a geeky teenager anymore, thanks very much. Being raised as a sheriff’s son, he’s had more than his share of lectures about what beasts lurk in the preserve and to stay the hell away unless otherwise specified, and then only in daylight.  
  
Not that his father would have suspected werewolves to roam his precinct, or at least Stiles hopes he didn’t.  
  
He’s sure a certain amount of panic is warranted in this situation, but apart from the initial shock, he feels surprisingly calm. He’s never really had any reason to fear for his safety when he’s with Derek; even when the sex gets _really_ enthusiastic, he still feels oddly safe with him.  
  
He glances at the clock, purely by chance, and then he’s flailing again because he’s running late. He is supposed to be at Derek’s in an hour. Shit!  
  
While he’s rushing through a shower and packing for the stay, he can feel his stomach starting to churn slightly in unease. Even if Derek has been very nice to him, Stiles is realistic enough to know that being close to a werewolf when it’s excited has got to be hazardous. Any sane individual would be freaking out upon learning someone they know could be a werewolf. They are supposed to be bloodthirsty, feral beasts after all; the stuff nightmares are made of. It doesn’t matter though, no matter how Stiles looks at it, he can’t imagine Derek actually hurting him for real. There might be a sort of dangerous air about him, but nothing vicious or evil.  
  
The only way he will get any answers though, is to ask Derek himself, so Stiles takes some deep breaths, hauls his bags along, getting into his car and driving off for the Hale property. Besides his clothes and lots of lube, he only packed a toothbrush and some toothpaste. Derek likes to sleep naked and so does he. A call boy’s luggage would normally also contain an impressive stack of condoms, but after their first time, Stiles had suggested they both get tested, since Derek’s knot effectively renders a condom nonfunctional. The span of time he’d used digging that stupid thing out after the premier performance of the Derek Hale freaky cock show, was truly staggering. Evidently, the knot had caused it to get pushed off and when the werewolf had pulled out eventually, he’d apparently been too sleepy to remember to try holding on to it.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles barely makes it inside the door before Derek is on him, nuzzling into his neck, sucking a hickey just below his jaw while running his hands down to grope Stiles’ ass and then pushing his shirt up and out of the way. This is their routine, so Stiles just goes along with it, thinking that it’ll probably be easier to talk to Derek once he’s knotted, which will keep him from fleeing a potentially horrifying conversation. Whether or not Derek is willing to address the issue of the glowing eyes and claws is unknown to Stiles, and so he doesn’t mind playing a little dirty when it’s needed.  
  
These days he’s anxiously awaiting the Fridays when he gets to be with Derek; all the other customers seem either dull or freaky now, and it really should worry Stiles more than it does, but he can’t focus on those technicalities when he’s being felt up by a guy that could make any of the men on the _‘100 Hottest Guys’_ -list skulk out in shame.  
  
“Missed you,” Derek mutters into his neck and Stiles clutches him tighter in response.  
  
“Me... you too,” he manages to get out before bucking his hips, trying to get more friction for his already rapidly swelling dick. It amazes him that even after all this time, he only has to hear Derek’s voice or see him and he starts getting aroused, it’s like his cock knows that whenever this particular guy is around, it’s up for a fucking awesome treat.  
  
Like so many times before, they don’t even make it upstairs and Stiles just gets bent over the back of an armchair by his favorite customer and his clothes are ripped off as fast as possible, with some amount of tearing in this incidence. Derek gets down on his knees, letting his hands slide slowly down Stiles’ back, fingers gently digging in.  
  
When the warm fingers reach the cleft of his ass, Stiles groans in anticipation and sways his back to be able to push his butt out towards Derek, who grabs a cheek in each hand and spreads them wide.  
  
“Oh God, please,” Stiles whines and takes a firm grip on the back support of the chair. He swears he can feel the smug bastard smiling against his ass cheek before a warm, wet and very skilled tongue pokes out and makes a tingling trail all the way from his perineum to the dimples in his lower back.  
  
Derek has some mean rimming skills and he once made Stiles almost lose it completely while only using his tongue. There’s something about the way he does it, like he’s enjoying the act itself so much he literally slobbers all over Stiles’ rear, that makes it extra hot - and today is no exception! Within a few short minutes Stiles has left all dignity behind and is shamelessly begging while grinding his ass back to get more of the sinful tongue.  
  
With a content rumble, Derek humors him for some long, delicious minutes, after which he gets up and miraculously produces some lube from somewhere, slicking up his fingers and pushing two into Stiles without difficulty, scissoring them repeatedly before pressing a third in as well. Stiles is soon ready and he spreads his thighs as wide as he can in this position, his hole practically begging for its favorite cock. His customers usually love it when he offers himself up like this and it seems as if Derek is no different, at least in this aspect.  
  
As Derek pushes in, his huge erection forcing Stiles’ entrance to open wide, the room is echoing with their combined moans and gasps, and the arousal is crashing through Stiles so powerfully he almost can’t contain it. That this can still be this intense is a revelation to him, and he forcefully shoves back, causing the last few inches of Derek’s cock to go in fast. The flare of pain makes him keen and throw his head back, and instantly, there’s teeth in the crook of his neck, alternately nipping softly and biting down, tugging on his skin. Stiles never knew he could be so turned on by getting bitten, but this whatever-it-is with Derek has certainly shown him sides of himself he didn’t know existed.  
  
In a short amount of time, Derek is thrusting like a man possessed, making Stiles yell and curse, squeezing the chair in a death grip while attempting to move with the rhythm. His prostate is taking some major hits, and pretty soon he’s delirious with pleasure.  
  
“Oh holy fucking shit, Derek! Please, more, harder, _please!_ ”  
  
He feels the prick of sharp canines at the nape of his neck and he instinctively goes pliant, lowering his head and baring his throat. Derek whines behind him and, even though it seemed impossible a minute ago, speeds up his pounding hips until Stiles is whimpering and blabbering continuously, his painfully hard cock spraying drops of precome all over the back of the chair and even on his thighs when it bounces with Derek’s vigorous assault.  
  
When strong arms wrap around his middle in a tight embrace, Stiles knows what’s coming and he braces himself seconds before Derek gives a particularly forceful thrust and pulls Stiles back at the same time. He does this every time, it’s like some sort of primal instinct with him, perhaps wanting to make sure the knot is safely inside when it expands. Either way, the sensations it provokes is enough to make Stiles’ train of thought go off rail and into the woods, so to speak. No matter that he’s done this a lot by now, it’s still mind blowing in its intensity and he’s restlessly wriggling, trying to get a hand on his own throbbing erection, but their position makes it difficult. When he whines in desperation, Derek’s right hand detaches from his waist and wraps around his cock, working it hard and fast. Stiles cries out in both relief and pleasure and it isn’t long before a wicked twist of Derek’s hand has him moaning and shooting his come in thick, sticky ropes, painting the back of the chair, his mouth open in a silent scream.  
  
The increased pressure on his knot, causes Derek to start coming too, making what feels like a flood of jizz pour into Stiles’ ass, while the body on top of him keeps undulating, prolonging his orgasm by nudging his sweet spot.  
  
After Stiles has come down from his orgasm high Derek hefts him up and moves them to the couch in an awkward sideways waddle, which Stiles has to really strain himself not to laugh at, and then arranging them on their sides with a blanket tucked around Stiles as well as possible. Derek never needs blankets no matter how cold it is, which is another thing Stiles has been suspicious about; do werewolves have higher body temperatures?  
  
Seeing as they are now effectively locked together, this would be as good a time as any to start the conversation Stiles wants to have, so he clears his throat softly and turns his head as far as he can, to peek at his current customer. Derek hums contentedly and pushes his face into Stiles’ neck, nipping at the soft skin and starts to suck another hickey, a thing he seems to be exceedingly fond of. It could be some kind of territorial marking, and Stiles is about to burst with curiosity, so in his usual fashion, he blurts a question without even preparing Derek for the direction his interrogation is taking.  
  
“Is the biting a wolf thing?”  
  
The body behind him goes utterly still and for a moment Derek doesn’t even breathe. Stiles is about to ask if he needs to call 911 when a hand clamps down on his upper arm, its grip just a tad too painful to be merely human strength.  
  
“What?” Derek croaks, his voice tight and controlled.  
  
“Um, the biting, is it a wolfy thing? Like marking territory or something?” Stiles makes sure to keep his tone light and unconcerned, but the body behind him stays tense, like he’s coiled for an escape he can’t possibly make right now.  
  
After a few moments of stunned silence, Derek’s voice returns.  
  
“How... what do you... What are you talking about?”  
  
Stiles can’t hold back the snort.  
  
“Come on, man! Even if I hadn’t noticed the eyes or the claws - freaking _claws!_ \- the knot would have been a pretty obvious hint to the fact that you’re not entirely human. Did you honestly think you could whip out that awesome dick and then not expect me to try and figure out what the deal was? Not fucking likely!”  
  
The hand on Stiles’ arm is getting a good deal more prickly and when he looks down, Derek’s nails are slowly morphing into some terrifying, long talons and it’s officially getting uncomfortable.  
  
“Um, Derek, could you possibly, you know, perhaps, just maybe, _remove_ your fucking claws from my arm _right now?_ ”  
  
It’s not just the hand which disappears, Derek’s entire body pulls back, until it tugs painfully where they are still firmly connected.  
  
“Ow ow _ow!_ ” Stiles wails. That fucking hurts!  
  
“Sorry,” Derek manages, still in his strangled voice, while he trembles, hovering above Stiles’ body, trying to keep them from touching anywhere which isn’t necessary. Either he’s suddenly very repulsed by Stiles or he’s freaking out his secret is no longer secret. Stiles is hoping for the last possibility, for the sake of his self esteem.  
  
“Would you just relax and get down here, I’m freezing without your stupidly hot body,” Stiles complains. He gets an incredulous look, but Derek relaxes slightly and lays down close again, though he keeps his hands to himself, a fact Stiles is _not_ pleased about, so he reaches for one and after checking the - now human - nails, pulls it around himself, snuggling back into Derek’s well muscled chest.  
  
“How the hell are you not trying to run away screaming right now?” Derek whispers, like he’s almost afraid to ask the question, in case it makes the idea take root in Stiles’ mind, reminding him that running would be the correct response to being on a couch with a werewolf.  
  
“I think we established that I am not easily freaked out when you knotted me the first time I was here,” Stiles says, trailing his fingers along the veins on the back of Derek’s hand. “I’ve seen the evidence and I have enough computer skills to do valid research and it was either werewolf or alien, so I just went with what made more sense.”  
  
He shrugs as best he can in this position and when there’s still no response, he continues with, “I mean, I’ve been with you quite frequently lately and you’ve never hurt me or given me any reason to be afraid, so it’s not like I’m gonna suddenly get scared of you. I wasn’t when we met the first time, and you could have been an insane serial killer for all I knew! You don’t have to be a werewolf to be dangerous.”  
  
Derek snorts.  
  
“How are you even real? With the stuff that comes out of your mouth, you ought to be copyrighted by Warner Bros or something.”  
  
Stiles attempts to elbow him in retaliation.  
  
“Hey! Not funny at all!”  
  
All the answer he gets is a raised eyebrow and then there’s silence for a few long moments.  
  
“So, just so we’re clear, you actually are a real, honest to God, werewolf?” he asks.  
  
Derek clears his throat and Stiles can feel the body behind him let go of the last of its tension.  
  
“Yeah, I am.”  
  
Stiles is able to contain the million questions scrambling around his head for approximately thirty seconds before he is sure he’s gonna burst if he doesn’t get to let them all out.  
  
“Um, can I ask you something?”  
  
Derek hums something that Stiles chooses to take as an affirmative and he starts his assault.  
  
“True or false, if you go out in moonlight you will immediately change into a four legged, furry beast?”  
  
Well, at least he gets to hear a werewolf laugh its ass off, since that is exactly what Derek does. He’s laughing so hard his whole body is vibrating, including his knot, which is still firmly lodged against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles has trouble focusing on his questions after that, but he manages, even with a reawakening erection, to ask all his questions and Derek talks for over an hour before purposefully jerking his hips, derailing Stiles’ concentration. It isn’t long before they are busy licking and biting each other instead of discussing werewolf lore.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
It’s when Stiles is donning his jacket, getting ready to leave bright and early Monday morning, his wallet filled to breaking point, that Derek shoots him a nervous glance and clears his throat, looking both awkward and sort of scared.  
  
“Um, Stiles, could we... I mean, perhaps, you’d...” he breaks off, rubbing his face before making a frustrated sound and just blurting out, “Do you wanna go out with me?”  
  
Stiles is pretty sure he’s gaping unattractively and for once, his brain is not running a thousand miles a minute. Actually it’s stuck at a complete standstill and he has no idea what to say. Derek is asking him out? In a not-getting-paid-for-sex way? Why? What could he possibly see in Stiles, still lanky and sort of geeky even at twenty five?  
  
“Um,” he croaks out.  
  
Derek is visibly more nervous, but he doesn’t break eye contact or run away, like Stiles is pretty sure he would have done if their positions were reversed.  
  
“I mean, I really like you and I’d like to try dating you, you know, without paying for your services and all that,” Derek ventures, his voice shaking slightly.  
  
“But, I work as a call boy, how could anyone date me?” Stiles shrieks.  
  
Derek winces.  
  
“I was kind of hoping maybe you’d give that up?”  
  
Breathing fast and shallow, starting to feel a bit lightheaded, Stiles grabs on to the door frame.  
  
“I... I can’t, Derek, it’s the only way I can earn enough for the mortgages on my house. I can’t pay my bills without the extra income and I will not sell my father’s house, it’s the only thing I have left of him!”  
  
He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t like you, Derek, I do, but... God, this is so fucked up! I’m your call boy for heaven’s sake!”  
  
Derek has this pinched expression on and he is starting to look slightly dejected, stepping back a little, as if trying to create a visible distance between them.  
  
“Well, in that case... My wolf is possessive and I couldn’t handle a relationship with you if you are still out there fucking others for money. I know,” he says immediately when Stiles opens his mouth to protest, “I know, I have no right to complain about it, when I knew this all along. I just didn’t expect to like you so much. God dammit! I’m sorry about this, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles has no idea what to say and all his instincts are screaming at him to get out of there. He hasn’t had many serious relationships really, and certainly not since he started his current career. It’s not something he’s entirely familiar with, which makes him sort of apprehensive about it. Besides, if werewolves are really that possessive, it’d never work while he has this job.  
  
“Don’t be sorry, Derek, it’s alright. I’ll, ah... I’ll go, but I hope you’ll still call for me, y’know, if you want to. Bye,” he rambles and then rushes out the door and into his trusted old jeep. He drives entirely too fast all the way back to town and for some reason he doesn’t want to examine too closely, he can’t stop shaking until he crawls under his blanket at home and sleeps most of the day away. He didn’t sleep much the night before, since he and Derek were doing _other things_.  
  
Erica calls around noon, but he ignores his phone and burrows deeper under the covers, refusing to come out. The world sucks anyway, so why bother?  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
He wakes up when there’s a pounding on the front door. He gets up, muttering curses at whoever it is, insisting on disrupting his sulking time and ambles down the stairs, into the hall and opens the door, revealing Erica in all her might.  
  
“Why weren’t you answering your phone? I was worried sick! Now, move so I can get in.”  
  
Stiles sighs in resignation and steps back, letting Erica invade his perfectly reasonable pity party.  
  
“I was sleeping okay? I had a busy weekend in case you forgot.”  
  
He immediately feels the death ray glare directed at his back and winces internally. She has probably been worrying all weekend, perhaps he could’ve have been a bit nicer.  
  
“Like I could forget! But alright, next time you go on a job for almost three whole days I will be sure to suppress any concerns about the wellbeing of you and your giant asshole!”  
  
Yep, that’s the Erica he knows and loves. When they get upstairs, he offers her a seat on his bed - he usually never uses the living room anymore - and plops down beside her, pulling his blanket over himself again.  
  
“Shit, sorry, it just ended badly, and I’ve been moping all day. Didn’t really want to talk to anybody.”  
  
Instantly, she goes from indignant to worried.  
  
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? What happened?”  
  
Stiles runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply.  
  
“It’s nothing like that. He asked me out, like on a real date and I panicked. If I wanted to try a relationship with him I would have to quit the Den and then how would I pay my bills and the mortgages on the house? I can’t lose the house, Erica, my parents loved it and put so much work into it. I just can’t. So, I guess you were right; this can only end badly. You should have seen his face when I walked out of there, it was like I’d kicked him square in solar plexus!”  
  
He drops his head into his hands and takes a shaky breath. He will not cry, he will _not_ cry!  
  
Erica merely looks at him with an expression he has learned means ‘you are an idiot’.  
  
“You’re an idiot, Stiles.”  
  
He can’t help but laugh a little at that, even if it is a sort of humorless, dry laugh.  
  
“Yeah I kinda figured that would be your opinion on this, but don’t worry, I won’t go running to him.”  
  
Great, now there’s actual pity in her eyes.  
  
“That’s not what I meant Stiles. You are an idiot for panicking and running away! You have formed a seriously fucked up kind-of-but-not-really-real relationship with Mister Grumpy already, and the first chance you get at something good, you freaking tuck tail and run? I’ve seen you slobbering over him for months! I mean, you’ve been going to him regularly for almost half a year!”  
  
Stiles huffs and frowns.  
  
“Yeah, as his fucking call boy, we haven’t even kissed. Besides, didn’t you hear me? He’d want me to quit my job at the Den.”  
  
“Yes I heard, and I fail to see the problem here! That job might work for you now, but do you seriously want to do this for the rest of your life? Or, y’know, until they boot you out for getting wrinkles and a flappy beer gut?”  
  
“Oi!” Stiles interrupts indignantly. He’s worked very hard to develop an actual, visible six pack, thank you very much, and he will strive to keep it that way for all eternity!  
  
Erica smirks at him and pats his leg on top of the blanket.  
  
“Whatever, you know it’s true, at least the wrinkles part. Just think about it alright? I’ll take you off the on-duty list for tonight and we’ll talk tomorrow okay?” she says, getting up and walking to the door, where she turns and winks at him before skipping down the stairs.  
  
When the front door has closed after her, Stiles sits and stares at it impassively for a long time. His mind is filled with the arguments she posed, his thoughts running rampant, trying to convince him of things he knows are dangerous to even think about.  
  
He never actually made any plans about how long he’d stay at the Den, but no, he doesn’t really want to work as a call boy for the rest of his days. He did go to college and he had enjoyed it, at least until he got the call that changed his life for good. After what happened to his dad, school just hadn’t seemed so important and he slacked off for a long while, which made him fail several courses. He never retook those exams and he’d actually been quite the prodigy in his earth science class. Hadn’t done too bad in any of his classes actually, before his whole world was flipped upside down by that one robbery that went from being a possible domestic disturbance to murder of a sheriff on duty in two seconds flat.  
  
Stiles had just sort of given up after that and even now he doesn’t know where to start and what he’d even like to do. So, for now, he gets back under his blankets and turns his iPod on for some background noise and tries to forget all about his stupid job and his stupid, but extremely gorgeous client.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles spends all Friday evening hoping for Erica to call with the usual message, but she doesn’t. Even though he kind of expected it, it still hurts that Derek doesn’t even want to continue their whatever it was. It might have been just sex, and the kind that requires payment, but Stiles still really enjoyed it and he has to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he had come to look forward to his time with Derek.  
  
Erica sends him a text later asking him to come in to work, there is a customer who is asking for someone who can take a good spanking, and Isaac is apparently out of town for the week. Figures.  
  
Stiles gets in, talks to Erica before the client arrives and then he leads the slightly embarrassed guy into one of the back rooms, where he promptly swoons at the sight of all the whips and paddles stacked along the wall. Given his reaction, when Stiles tells him to pick his ‘weapon of choice’ it’s kind of surprising that the dude didn’t come in his pants the minute he walked into the room.  
  
Even though Stiles really tries, he can’t really get into the mood and, despite the fact that the guy is not too bad to look at or even behaving unpleasantly, Stiles’ dick stays stubbornly flaccid. Previous to his acquaintance with Derek, he would have had no trouble getting it up for anyone who’d take a whip to him, however pathetic that fact makes him feel.  
  
No matter how hard he struggles he simply can’t manage to pull that old persona he normally uses with clients up. Instead of turning him on, suddenly the whip cracking makes him feel faintly nauseous. He thinks he does well considering that he actually wants to curl up on the floor and perhaps vomit up his dinner, but the customer still rages a war after he’s jizzed all over Stiles - including his hair, thanks so much, idiot! - and demands half of the price refunded, claiming that Stiles has lessened the enjoyment for him by not being aroused himself.  
  
Clearly though, he hadn’t expected Erica to be the incredible banshee that she is, so he skulks off shortly, having given up on a reimbursement for Stiles’ lack of enthusiasm.  
  
At the end of the evening, he ends up going home with Erica, curling up on her couch to watch the old Star Wars movies while practically inhaling a big jar of Ben & Jerry’s _Phish Food_ ice cream. Nothing like chocolate, caramel and marshmallows to lighten the burden that is his life.  
  
When it’s time for bed, Erica silently beckons him along and Stiles gratefully flops onto her big double bed, curling up next to her in an old worn t-shirt with catwoman on the front. His dignity was shattered into a billion little pieces long ago when in regards to this particular girl, so he doesn’t really find it in him to care. Besides, Catwoman is hot!  
  
“Did you think about what I said?” she asks, her voice hushed in the darkness.  
  
Stiles just breathes for a few seconds before he turns in the direction he thinks her head is.  
  
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it and no, of course I don’t want to work at the Den for the rest of my life. I just don’t know what I’d like to do. I never finished all my college courses; it sort of fell apart when my dad died...” he trails off.  
  
Her hand settles on his arm and gives a little squeeze.  
  
“Perhaps you should talk to Boyd about it? Let him know you’re thinking about doing something else?”  
  
Stiles snorts. He has only ever met the man who owns The Wolf’s Den a few times and he seemed nice enough, but then again, he’s never dealt personally with Stiles. That sort of close contact often left people seeing Stiles as a sort of nuisance that is best resolved by removing it completely.  
  
“Right, that would go over so well, _‘Hey boss man, who has to pay me, I am considering leaving your company, do you have any ideas?’_. Good thinking, Erica.”  
  
She pinches his arm and hisses, “He has another business, less about selling asses, and it’s possible he could help! I think they do some sort of research and development, it sounds exactly like the boring kind of crap you always read about. Couldn’t hurt to ask!”  
  
“Alright, jeez, if it’ll get you off my case I’ll go see him tomorrow! Now, can we sleep?”  
  
In response, Erica rolls over, turning her back to Stiles and pulls the cover over and around her, so it slips halfway off Stiles. He only sighs and fetches a blanket in the hallway cupboard; it’s useless to fight her anyways.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and as always, I'd be super duper happy if you'd take the time to leave a review :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek called for him? Why? Does he still want Stiles? What’s he supposed to do now?
> 
> He doesn’t even notice he’s slipping down the wall before Erica grabs his arms and hauls him onto the bed before he hits the floor.
> 
> “Come on, Stiles, grow a pair! You are going. You obviously like him and don’t even try to tell me you haven’t missed him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the story and will be satisfied with how it turns out in the end. Otherwise, I'm sorry, but too bad - it's my story :P
> 
> Anyways, beware of slash and graphic sexual content, as always (seriously, I'm starting to think I'm a writing nympho!).
> 
> Thanks goes to my pre reader SimplyMatt and my beta Corey Smith - you guys are the best!  
> A lot of gratitude and humble bowing to my awesome Dragontattoo75 - what would I do without you girl?

**Chapter 3**

  
  
A car honks loudly, but Stiles keeps standing where he is, just outside the door of the Den, occupying half of the narrow car lane. He doesn’t move until the driver rolls down the window and yells at him to fuck off already.  
  
He just got a new job!  
  
This morning, when he had gone to meet with Boyd, it turned out his business had recently lost a promising talent to a rival company and his boss, who turned out to be just as nice as Stiles had gotten the impression of, had asked why he wanted to quit the Den. After a long and elaborate tale, on Stiles’ end, and a lot of nodding and _‘hmm’ing_ , on Boyd’s end, the man had explained about the kind of employee he was looking for. He hadn’t even flinched when Stiles told him he hadn’t finished college. It could be because his boss already knows about when his dad died, but no matter what the reason is, Boyd merely brushed it aside and, after hearing about his pre-breakdown grades, offered Stiles a probationary period of 3 months with full pay and then a week to decide afterwards.  
  
Stiles still can’t really believe it, but the contract he’s carrying in his hand is clear evidence to the fact he has a new job.  
  
He hadn’t really planned on quitting the Den right away, it was more like investigating possibilities for down the road, someday, but Boyd’s other business needs the manpower immediately and it’s way too good an offer to pass up. Finally being able to move in the right direction is really giving Stiles a boost and it isn’t really until the burden lifts that he notices how the slight embarrassment he’d carried around about being a call boy had weighed him down.  
  
It feels like he’s doing something his parents would be proud of, something which makes him feel truly hopeful, for the first time in ages.  
  
After getting off the street, he goes to lunch at a diner and then calls Erica, telling her the news. She squeals loudly in his ear, making all the other customers around him shoot him strange looks over their burgers and salads.  
  
While on his way home to his big lonely house, Stiles can’t help thinking about Derek. It’s inevitable really, with the way things are evolving in his life right now. He still misses the werewolf a lot, odd as it may sound, and he wants very much to go to him, to try to work things out, but there are several things which makes him hold back. Firstly, he has no idea if Derek is mad at him or if he’s even still interested and secondly, he has to figure out if he can handle having a relationship where he’ll have to either deflect or make up a story when people ask the inescapable _‘So how did you two meet?’_. Apart from Erica, his friends don’t exactly know what he’s done for a living the last four years, and he isn’t sure he wants to deal with the shit storm which would arise if they found out.  
  
On the other hand, he had really felt a genuine connection with Derek and this is not something that’s happened a lot for him. Also, the dude is a smoking hot, super freakishly strong werewolf. These are all things which count as positives in Stiles’ book, although he secretly feels perhaps he should be a bit more apprehensive about the wolf part. It just isn’t happening, since his inner comic book geek is chanting _‘Wolverine! Wolverine! Wolverine!’_ in a high pitched, excited voice inside his head. God, Derek was right, he really is a real life cartoon character!  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
When he gets home, he immediately raids his closets looking for appropriate clothing for his new job and finds... nothing! So he calls Erica, again, and begs her to come shopping with him, which she agrees to after a lot of groveling and eventually the refreshed promise he’ll wear those stupid lacy thongs she had bought after making him swear - while ridiculously drunk - he’d put them on for her.  
  
Most of the afternoon they spend going through shops, hauling a truly impressive amount of clothes back to Stiles’ place at the end of it, and finish with his home cooked spaghetti bolognese. Erica swoons and praises his skills, trying to tell him he should be a professional chef, but he knows she’s just secretly hinting for him to let her take all the leftovers home.  
  
As he’s cleaning up the dishes, she roams around in her bag before producing a tiny piece of turquoise silk with lacy trim and shoving it in Stiles’ face.  
  
“Put them on!” she cheers.  
  
When he only gapes at her, she narrows her eyes and gestures insistently with the fabric he has now realized is the thong she wanted him to wear.  
  
“What? Here? I thought you were going to make me parade around in them somewhere public to humiliate me!”  
  
Erica hums and makes a face like she’s considering it.  
  
“You know what? That’s not a bad idea, but no, I had only planned on making you put them on and show them off to me. You might be gay and all, but I can still appreciate a fine looking man and besides, I’m taking a picture!”  
  
“Hey! Nobody gave you permission to do underwear shots of me! Not gonna happen, psycho!” he wails, trying to step around her to escape the kitchen. She only laughs and follows him upstairs where she promptly stuffs the scrap of material into his pocket before settling onto his bed, shooting him an expectant look. He is well aware she has the patience of a saint when she wants to, so he might as well give in now. Doesn’t mean he holds back from cursing her amply while trekking to his bathroom though.  
  
He locks the door and gets out of his trousers and briefs, shooting the lacy things a baleful glare before stepping into them. As he pulls them up, the soft material glides over his skin and a small shiver runs up his spine. Well, at least they feel nice. Stiles can’t help letting his movement slow down, so he can fully appreciate the sensation of pulling the thong up into place.  
  
When he finally releases the waistband to let it snap into place, he takes a moment to thank the deities Erica is so taken with lacy underwear which is specifically designed for men. These are tight enough, and he would _not_ enjoy putting on something similar which was made for women. He can almost hear his balls cry at the very thought of it.  
  
He removes his shirt because it looks ridiculous with the tiny thong and turns to take a look in the mirror before he prepares to start his walk of shame, and is surprised by how the color accentuates his skin tone so well. They actually look kind of good on him, even if they are a bit lewd in the way they cling to his package, putting him on display. He’s not exactly big, but neither is he small, and this thong actually fits quite well. Perhaps he should be suspicious about Erica getting the size just right. Has she been peeking in the changing rooms at the Den?  
  
Taking a deep breath, Stiles unlocks the door and steps into his bedroom, facing Erica with a disgruntled expression. He doesn’t really mind her seeing him like this, he is comfortable in his body and she’s his best friend - at least since Scott, his best friend through middle school, high school and college, moved half a country away to be with his girlfriend Allison - but he feels like he should put up at least a somewhat dissatisfied expression for the sake of his dignity.  
  
“So?” he snarks at her. No reason to let the girl know he actually kind of, just a little, likes wearing the damn thing.  
  
Erica is smirking, dammit, and just twirls a finger at him, trying to convey she wants him to turn in a circle, showing it all off. Well, she did keep her end of their bargain, so he straightens up and turns around, flexing his muscles and making ludicrous faces, generally trying really hard to be silly. She laughs at him and before he can do more than smile back, she’s got her phone out and snaps a photo, immediately ducking out of the way when he lunges for her.  
  
“Don’t you dare post that anywhere, Erica, or I swear to God!” he threatens, getting in her face, stabbing a finger in her chest.  
  
“Yeah, you’re real scary in a blue thong, Stiles,” she laughs and when he crosses his arms and pouts at her, she relents, “Jeez, relax will you, I won’t publish it anywhere! It’s just for me,” she finished with a wink.  
  
Stiles snorts.  
  
“Right, have you gotten so lonely you need to go around to your gay friends forcing them into girly underwear and take pictures for your own happy time? Pathetic, girl!”  
  
She slaps the back of his head with an indignant, “Hey!” before promptly kicking his shin as well, causing Stiles to get into a weird form of one legged, leaping dance while spewing profanities in a steady stream. It does _not_ present an appealing image, what with him dressed as he is; or rather _isn’t!_  
  
While directing a glare at Erica’s smug face, Stiles rubs his shin before beginning to limp towards the bathroom. He’s just about to walk out the doorway into the hall when Queen’s _Bohemian Rhapsody_ erupts loudly in the room, making him flail in shock and almost fall on his face. Erica looks supremely unconcerned when she pulls her phone back out from where she hid it behind her when Stiles jumped on her and lifts it to her ear.  
  
“Hi, sir. What’s up?” she asks before listening and then frowning. “Uh, seriously? Alright, I’ll send him over there, don’t worry.”  
  
She clicks the ‘end call’ button and stares at her phone for a while before flicking a bemused glance at Stiles, who’s still hanging onto the door frame wearing only the blue thong. He waits for Erica to explain the call, but she keeps looking at the phone like it holds the answers to all the questions she could ever come up with.  
  
Finally she speaks.  
  
“That was Boyd. My new receptionist colleague just received a phone call from a very grumpy guy, demanding to hire you tonight. When they told him you’d quit he got, um, let’s go with _grumpier_.”  
  
Stiles can feel his breathing speed up and his fingers start tingling. Shit! That sounds like...  
  
Erica looks him straight in the eyes and blurts, “It’s Derek.”  
  
Right, yeah, that would have been his first guess as well. Derek called for him? Why? Does he still want Stiles? What’s he supposed to do now?  
  
He doesn’t even notice he’s slipping down the wall before Erica grabs his arms and hauls him onto the bed before he hits the floor.  
  
“Come on, Stiles, grow a pair! You are going. You obviously like him and don’t even try to tell me you haven’t missed him!”  
  
“Of course I have,” he wheezes at her, “I was just living under the impression that he would rather not see me again, so this is a bit of a surprise and I suddenly have to make a decision, which is not something I am particularly good at.”  
  
Erica rolls her eyes dramatically, a crooked smile appearing on her beautiful face.  
  
“I’ve noticed. You like him though, right?” she asks, and when Stiles nods she continues with, “Good, then off you go, at least talk to him. It doesn’t all have to get settled tonight, you can see where it goes, but for heaven’s sake, give it a chance! Remember how happy you were, back when you saw him regularly?”  
  
Stiles can only nod once more before swallowing loudly. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this, but when he sorts through all those worries overlaying everything, he can feel deep down he really does want to be with Derek. Which kind of decides things for him. Perhaps it’s time to try and grab some happiness for himself and stop worrying about everything and everybody else.  
  
“Right,” he says, decisively and stands up, wiping his palms on his thighs before instantly panicking again.  
  
“What should I wear?” he moans at her, eyeing the huge pile of clothes they had brought home earlier.  
  
Her expression turns truly wicked and she all but purrs at him, “Well first of all, keep that thong on,” and then effectively quells him with a glare when he opens his mouth to protest before diving into his closet and emerging with a pair of jeans purposefully worn and ripped in strategic places and a slightly too small t-shirt with _I CAN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT_ printed on the front in big, purple letters.  
  
“Here you go.”  
  
Stiles just throws it on in a daze, not realizing until afterwards that he still has the turquoise thong on underneath. Ah well, he isn’t even sure if he will end up in a situation where he needs to remove his clothes. After all, Derek didn’t really specify what he wanted with Stiles and he probably wasn’t going to pour his heart out to the receptionist at the Den.  
  
Even if they do end up like they used to, who’s to say Derek won’t like it? Stiles can admit he enjoys the sensation of silk against his skin; maybe he has discovered another kink. Not that he hasn’t worn lingerie before, there has been several clients with those particular tastes, but he’s never had the pleasure of silk before and nothing close to this quality design. Closet gays with a penchant for underwear apparently don’t frequent the same elite shops as Erica does.  
  
As soon as he has made a half-assed attempt at taming his hair, Erica practically shoves him out the door, keys in hand and yells at him to give her an update later on, rounding off with a highly imaginative threat as to what will happen to him if he doesn’t. Stiles is still glaring futilely at her back when she saunters off down the sidewalk.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Stiles’ heart is beating frantically in his chest when he parks his car alongside Derek’s sleek Camaro and turns off the engine. God, he’s nervous. His hands are actually shaking a little and his legs feel wobbly when he gets out of the car. Pulling in a few deep breaths he starts walking towards the house and for once he reaches the door without Derek flinging it open in his face. Either Derek is reluctant to acknowledge his presence or perhaps he’s suddenly hesitant about how he’d be received if he should dare to be too enthusiastic about Stiles showing up.  
  
Trying hard to calm his pounding heart, he raises a hand and knocks on the door. He waits for a few agonizing seconds before it’s all but ripped open and there’s Derek, staring at him with an odd expression which seems to be a mix of too many emotions, all mashed together into something resembling vaguely constipated, but sort of hopeful at the same time. Stiles almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. This situation feels way too serious to laugh at.  
  
He clears his throat and finally meets Derek’s eyes.  
  
“Hi,” he croaks, his voice trembling a little.  
  
Apparently his tone of voice, or some smell or pheromone he’s giving off, tells the werewolf something Stiles can’t get out with words currently and Derek sort of frowns while at the same time his expression loosens into a slightly less strained one and he opens the door wider before replying softly.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Stiles hesitates on the doorstep.  
  
“Um, The Den called Erica, saying you asked for me?”  
  
Derek throws him a scrutinizing glance and nods.  
  
“True, I did. They told me you had quit,” he says, managing to make the last part sound like a question.  
  
“Yeah, Erica talked some sense into me, and before I knew it, I had a new job.”  
  
Derek nods and then just stands there, looking. His gaze seems a little puzzled, like he can’t really figure out what Stiles wants, but he gives nothing away, not making it easier for Stiles to pull himself together to jump into the deep end.  
  
“Um,” he starts, continuing haltingly with, “So I don’t have sex for money any more, and I wanted to ask you... or well, I was wondering if... I know it was awhile ago, but... _shit!_ ” he cuts off, giving his hair a frustrated pull before forcibly blurting out, “Do you still want me?”  
  
For a few seconds, the werewolf stands completely frozen in the doorway, long enough for Stiles’ stomach to start dropping and his breath to hitch, but then, in a sudden flurry of movement, he lunges forward, grabs Stiles around the middle and yanks him inside, kicking the door shut with a foot.  
  
Stiles would normally have squealed fiercely at such treatment, but his mouth is busy being attacked by Derek’s lips and tongue, so he overlooks the error and moans instead. Despite the long time they’ve known each other, they have never actually kissed before. Stiles usually never kisses with clients and the werewolf never challenged his wishes. Seeing as their current exchange is not of the professional kind, Derek has apparently dismissed the smooching embargo.  
  
The lips moving against Stiles’ are soft, but firm and Derek’s tongue is on a quest to familiarize itself with all crevices of his mouth and the sensations are driving him up the wall, in the best way possible. His skin is tingling, desire burning a raging path through his veins, his blood roaring in his ears. As his lungs start to convulse, trying to alert Stiles to the fact he needs to breathe, Derek pulls back slightly so their lips part, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Stiles’. When he gasps for air, he breathes in what the werewolf breathes out and before today he would’ve recoiled from sharing oxygen with anyone, but here, now, it feels intimate and right.  
  
Regardless of his attempts to control his expression, Stiles can feel a big, goofy grin splitting his face.  
  
“I’m guessing that means yes?” he ventures, chuckling lightly.  
  
Derek laughs and presses a soft kiss to his lips.  
  
“Hell yeah!” he exclaims happily and leads Stiles into the house, past the living room to the kitchen where there is a pot on the stove, emitting delicious smells which causes Stiles’ mouth to water.  
  
Derek gestures for Stiles to sit on the counter while he stirs the pot, which seems to contain a stew of some sort.  
  
“You hungry?” the werewolf asks.  
  
Even though he’s tempted to laugh again, at this very domestic scene he’s suddenly in the middle of, Stiles merely nods and smiles. He feels genuinely content and peaceful for the first time since he last saw Derek, and even more than he’d done back then, since the small worries he’d had are now all but gone.  
  
As he watches Derek move around the kitchen, his muscles flexing and bulging under his clothes, a current of desire flares up and starts flowing beneath his skin, setting his nerves on fire. Stiles wants to kiss those lips again, but he has a feeling if he starts now, he won’t stop until they are both spent and satisfied, the stew probably sitting burnt on the stove. So he reins it in and focuses on making small talk before beginning a raid of the kitchen cupboards, trying to locate plates and cutlery to set the table.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
Derek turns from the television where Bruce Willis is trying _not_ to die hard, _Yippee Ki-yay Motherfucker_ and all that, and catches Stiles staring at him instead of the screen. He would be embarrassed, but who in their right mind wouldn’t ogle Derek if given the chance? So naturally he keeps staring and the werewolf just stares right back, his startling green irises starting to turn red around the edges, exposing the fact his thoughts are also wandering away from the movie running in the background.  
  
Stiles’ mind is one big whirlpool of conflicting emotions, half of him demanding he at least play a little hard to get, he is no longer a whore after all, and the other half cheering at him to just freaking jump the hot piece of man sitting beside him, preferably as soon as possible.  
  
Even if his brain is confused, a certain part of his anatomy is not, and the blue thong is quickly getting to be a bit on the tight side when his cock starts swelling and lengthening, anticipating a good time. Before his erection is even visibly noticeable, Derek’s nostrils flare and the thin, red edge in his eyes expands until they are a deep, intense crimson. Stiles is pretty sure it ought to freak him out, but it looks stunning on the werewolf and he can’t hold back a quiet groan. Not that volume level matters any when he’s with Derek, seeing as he will hear it anyway. Despite the sound being so relatively low, it works as well as a shouted _‘Ready, Set, Go!’_ in the way they lunge simultaneously and crash together in the middle of the couch.  
  
Derek emits a whine which sounds almost pained before grabbing on to Stiles’ shirt with a death grip and shoving his head into soft neck flesh, starting to suck a hickey into the unblemished skin. Stiles figures his wolfy instincts are demanding he mark his... mate or whatever the right classification may be, and frankly he doesn’t mind. The biting is only making him even more aroused and he grabs a fistful of Derek’s hair and presses his head in tighter, tipping his chin up, blatantly exposing his jugular to the werewolf, which prompts a satisfied rumble.  
  
Within a few short moments, his pants are becoming painfully tight and he really wants to get his throbbing cock out of its confines, so Stiles reaches for the hem of Derek’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He pauses for a moment to appreciate the view, bending his head to lick across the amazing abs on display and upwards, circling a nipple and nibbling at a collarbone. Derek moans and his hips twitch restlessly.  
  
Stiles rips open the fly of his lover’s jeans and impatiently shove them down, snatching his boxers too, leaving both tangled around Derek’s ankles. He scrambles onto the floor, settling in between Derek’s thighs, running his hands slowly up towards the straining erection where precome has started gathering on the tip. He looks up at the werewolf’s face from under his lashes; there is a red flush on his lover’s cheeks and his mouth is hanging slightly open, the pink tongue peeking out once in awhile to moisten his lips.  
  
The moment Stiles seals his lips around the head of Derek’s cock, the werewolf keens sharply in the back of his throat, his hands digging into the couch cushions, tearing the fabric.  
  
“God, Stiles! Fuck, I’ve missed your mouth,” he pants.  
  
In response, Stiles hums around his mouthful and lets Derek’s entire length slide in, swirling his tongue in inventive ways. It’s like they were never apart, the way they fit together so well. Stiles feels sort of like he’s come home, taking care of Derek’s needs, pleasing him, and he throws himself into the task of making the werewolf come undone with fervor. He wants his lover to lose control, as much as is possible without compromising his own life in the process.  
  
Derek is soon fucking up into Stiles’ mouth, but the werewolf is careful not to grip his hair, seeing as he could possibly hurt Stiles in the heat of the moment, or scratch him with his claws, which have a tendency to pop out when he gets too excited.  
  
On a downstroke, Stiles feels a widening of his lover’s shaft and he pulls off to look, seeing that Derek’s knot has started swelling slightly. It usually doesn’t react unless the werewolf has his dick buried in Stiles’ ass, so he shoots the wolf a questioning glance. Derek’s head is thrown back, his mouth open and he is clenching his hands convulsively at his sides.  
  
Stiles clears his throat and snakes a hand up to wrap around the impressive erection oozing precome in a steady stream and works it gently.  
  
“Um, your knot... Is that normal? You usually don’t do that before you’re... y’know, _in_ me.”  
  
Derek moans and wheezes, “It’s... because it’s... so intense! Long time since... _hngh_... we had sex last. My wolf... _god_... sees you as our mate, needs to claim you.”  
  
Stiles has a vague idea being a mate means more in wolfy terms than what humans would usually attribute to the word. Back when he talked with Derek about werewolf facts, he had gotten the impression being a werewolf’s mate is a permanent thing. Ever lasting. He finds he doesn’t mind this at all. Which is probably yet another thing which should make him want to go and get a brain scan, but instead it makes him feel stupidly giddy.  
  
In order to release some of the staggering amount of emotions boiling under his skin, Stiles surges up and kisses Derek, while his hand fondles the knot, which is still growing slightly with each beat of pulse. They kiss passionately for a couple of long moments before Derek pulls back and groans.  
  
“Jeez, fuck. You need to stop, my knot is already getting too big. I can’t fuck you if it’s fully swelled.”  
  
Stiles only tightens his grip on the inflated part of his lover’s cock and leans in close to whisper in as filthy a tone as he can manage.  
  
“Oh, I’m quite sure you can, Derek. Haven’t you ever wondered what it’d be like to push that into me? You always strive so hard to stay in when it grows, but doesn’t that get kinda boring in the long run? Come on, I want you to pound it into me like it is now.”  
  
The response he gets is a whine which echoes around the living room loudly, and Derek shreds his shirt in his hurry to get Stiles out of his clothes.  
  
“Hey! I liked that shirt,” he grumbles, but pulls the zipper of his fly down without pausing. He knows something is up when Derek stills completely and his eyes widen comically.  
  
“What?” Stiles asks, and looks down.  
  
Where the turquoise silk is peeking out above his pants. Oh. Right. He’d totally forgotten about the thong Erica had forced him into. Well, this ought to be interesting.  
  
“What...um... what is that, Stiles?” Derek croaks. He actually _croaks_.  
  
Stiles throws him a mischievous grin before replying, “My underwear. Wanna see?”  
  
Getting up from his position between Derek’s legs Stiles steps back a little to give the werewolf an opportunity to get a proper look and turns around, before slowly and provocatively pushing his pants down, revealing a tantalizing view of pert butt cheeks framed by blue silk. When his trousers drop to the floor Stiles hears a sharp intake of breath and throws a teasing wink over his shoulder. Derek is staring, or more accurately gaping, mouth wide open and his eyes swallowing everything greedily.  
  
“You like?” Stiles taunts, spinning in a lazy circle, to give the werewolf a frontal view as well. If the thong had been lascivious when it hadn’t contained an raging erection, it is looking positively obscene now. The fabric is stretched tight where Stiles’ cock is trying its best to spring free and there is a dark patch where the precome has wetted the silk.  
  
Derek honest to god whimpers and clamps a hand around the base of his dick right below the knot, which Stiles takes to mean that the underwear is a hit.  
  
He walks over and reaches out a hand, running it through the werewolf’s soft hair. Derek shifts forward, nosing at the taut material covering Stiles’ straining erection, licking at the spot where precome has saturated it. Then, he inhales deeply before lifting his head, looking up at Stiles with a burning gaze. The werewolf’s hands fasten around his waist and pull him down, so Stiles is forced to straddle him.  
  
Stiles leans forward to lick at Derek’s throat while grinding his hips down and into the hardness he can feel against his belly. In short order there’s two fingers shoved up his ass and Stiles moans into the skin of his lover’s neck, muffling the sound slightly. Derek seems almost desperate, but still makes sure to be considerate of Stiles and stretches him thoroughly before pulling the string of the thong out from the cleft of his ass, lining his massive cock up at Stiles’ entrance.  
  
Stiles balances himself with a hand on each of the werewolf’s shoulders and lowers himself down, biting his lip when he feels the sharp burn of being forced open so wide he’s almost afraid he won’t ever completely close up again.  
  
“ _Ah!_ Oh fuck, Derek! _Jeez_ , I’ve missed you and your freaky huge dick _so_ much! _Yes!_ ” he wails.  
  
It’s desperate and messy and Stiles absolutely fucking loves it! He moans and pants, keens and yells in ecstasy, and Derek is right there with him the whole way. It seems like the werewolf is enjoying the lingerie very much, judged on the fact that he keeps pawing the silk, once in awhile trying to seize a handful, which isn’t really a successful endeavor seeing as there is barely enough fabric to get a hold of.  
  
After they’ve built up a decent rhythm, Stiles starts to grind down harder, making the knot push against his rim. Derek grits his teeth and tenses in his fight not to thrust hard, in an attempt to force the knot into his lover. Stiles is both touched the werewolf exhibits such restraint in order not to hurt him, and frustrated because he fucking wants to take it all the way in. He wants to be split wide open, screaming Derek’s name so loudly it’ll be audible even all the way into town. The werewolf doesn’t have neighbours, given his house’s location, but if he did, they’d be in no doubt as to what either Derek or his lover’s names were after tonight.  
  
Stiles wraps his arms around his lover’s neck and rolls his hips while whispering into the werewolf’s ear.  
  
“Don’t you want to knot me, Derek? Come on, just give it to me!”  
  
Derek growls like he wants to rip Stiles’ head off, or is at least is considering it, and grabs him by the shoulders, hissing, “You asked for it!”  
  
Stiles barely has a second to brace himself before Derek pounds up, making his knot slam into his lover’s already well stretched hole, the rim grudgingly yielding until the enlarged swelling slots into place inside Stiles’ ass, locking them together. While Derek roars with the sensations coursing through him at the added stimulation, Stiles is all but sobbing, his whole body twitching and alive with pained pleasure. It’s more than he can possibly contain, more than a human body is supposed to be able to withstand, so his system releases the pressure the only way it can in its present state. His orgasm tears through him, wrecking Stiles with its intensity. Since he is still wearing the thong, a lot of his jizz gushes out from under the fabric, running down his thighs and onto Derek, who’s still working his hips, chasing his own release.  
  
It’s only a couple of short minutes later that the werewolf cries out, doubling over from the sensations, his come pumping into Stiles, filling him up rapidly until the skin of his belly starts feeling a bit strained. He loves this feeling and he catches himself wondering what it’d be like, trapping Derek’s come inside him with a butt plug and then maybe going for round two later the same day. With the way the idea makes his nipples perk up he can’t imagine it’ll be anything but magnificent. Something to consider, certainly.  
  
They stay sitting like this for almost half an hour, just nuzzling each other and sharing soft kisses. Stiles is sure they present quite the picture, him stuck on Derek’s knot, still wearing the thong, sort of, and Derek’s pants and boxers in a heap around his ankles.  
  
Even so, Stiles wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here, and he tells Derek so. The werewolf smiles and pulls up the blanket previously lying unused at the armrest and covers them with it as they settle down on their sides to rest until the knot deflates.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
“So,” Stiles says when he wakes up next to Derek on the couch, “You wanna be my boyfriend?”  
  
Derek snorts at him, even going as far as rolling his eyes.  
  
“Not the term I would have used, but yes, I do.”  
  
Stiles beams at him and shifts closer to plant a chaste kiss on the werewolf’s lips.  
  
“Good, I’m glad.”  
  
After a search through the array of clothes strewn across the floor, he locates his phone and sends a text off to Erica.  
  
 _The thong was a hit, I now have a real, official boyfriend. Tell you all the details later. P.S. I’m afraid you’re gonna need to buy new lingerie, I think we killed this pair!_  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
“No! I absolutely refuse to buy Froot Loops! Nuh uh, not happening,” Stiles declares fiercely, crossing his arms and facing the now sulking werewolf holding a box of said sugar bomb, masquerading as breakfast food. Stiles is still firmly on the healthy train, all aboard and all that, even so many years after he started the habit to help his dad watch his cholesterol.  
  
Derek pouts, which is ridiculously adorable, and Stiles is fighting his inner softie, losing ground fast, when there’s a wail of “Stiles!” from behind.  
  
Stiles whirls around and immediately spots Scott, the elusive, former best friend, dragging a seemingly pregnant Allison along towards them.  
  
Before Stiles can even whisper to Derek who are descending on them, he is wrapped up in a bear hug that makes his ribs creak ominously.  
  
“Hey dude, how are you doing?” Scott asks, beaming.  
  
“Hi Scott, I’m good. Hello Allison,” he greets the girl, who waves back with a soft smile.  
“Oh, this is Derek, my boyfriend,” Stiles says, gesturing to the man in question. Derek is frowning, naturally, looking very unfriendly, which is apparently his default expression around anyone but Stiles. He does however present a hand for Scott to shake.  
  
“Wow, well done, man!” Scott whispers to Stiles, who sort of cringes because, yeah, Derek can hear that, no problem.  
  
He turns to Allison and gives her a big smile.  
  
“Are congratulations in order?” he asks, pointing to her protruding belly.  
  
Scott launches into a long speech about due dates, ultrasounds and sonogram pictures, his expression quickly bypassing enthusiastic, going right to exuberant, while his girlfriend smiles indulgently at him.  
  
When Stiles peeks back at his shopping cart while Scott is pausing to breathe, he sees the Froot Loops lying next to the carrots and onions. He turns a sharp glare at Derek and snatches the box up.  
  
“We are not buying these, Derek! I will not let them inside the house!”  
  
The stupid werewolf actually growls, albeit quite low, but Stiles narrows his eyes until Derek grabs the cereal and puts it back on the shelf.  
  
Scott is staring at the exchange bemusedly.  
  
“Um, how long have you known each other?” he asks.  
  
“About a year,” Stiles shrugs, which is true although the first five months were as customer and call boy, “We moved into my house a few months back and I’m trying to prevent him from clogging up his arteries, but it’s damn hard work, let me tell you.”  
  
Derek snorts and takes a healthier, non-sugary box of cornflakes and drops it into their cart, shooting a scowl in Stiles’ direction, as if accusing him of denying Derek his one and only joy in this cruel world. It doesn’t affect him though, because Stiles got plenty of practice ignoring the _you are slowly torturing me to death_ -stares back when he converted his father from bacon and burgers to turkey and salad.  
  
Just when Stiles is thinking perhaps he will actually avoid the question he has feared popping up in their conversation, Allison pipes up, “So, how did you two meet each other?”  
  
He can feel the blush coming on, as well as his heart picking up double tempo. The nervous sweating will be next.  
  
Derek however stays completely calm and even manages to throw a smile Stiles’ way before replying.  
  
“Stiles turned up at my door wanting to sell something and I thought it was some kind of joke, but then he started talking and within five minutes he had me.”  
  
Stiles is inwardly gaping at the way Derek succeeds at telling the truth without revealing anything incriminating about Stiles’ past. Outwardly he bestows a crooked smile on his boyfriend, who leans in and deposits a slightly more than casual kiss on Stiles’ lips.  
  
Scott is looking back and forth between them like he’s watching an exciting tennis match at high speed and Stiles can’t help but laugh at his expression. Scott always was a bit dense, even though he has a heart of gold underneath it all.  
  
Allison giggles.  
  
“Yeah, I imagine Stiles’ vocabulary could convince anybody of anything.”  
  
“Hey! _Rude_ ,” Stiles squawks indignantly.  
  
Derek releases a deep belly laugh, startling both Scott and Allison, who had both probably figured he didn’t do anything besides scowl... and kissing Stiles in the food aisle.  
  
Feeling the simple joy of cheerful interaction with friends, Stiles can really appreciate the changes in his life over the last six months. His new job is going great and he feels he’s valuable to the company, proven by his bosses already starting to let him take more responsibility as they see his aptitude and understanding for the profession.  
  
He and Derek hadn’t been dating officially for long before Stiles loaded the jeep with moving boxes and drove out to Derek’s house, telling him to pack up his shit and move in with him. Initially the werewolf had been reluctant about leaving the remote location he was used to, but when Stiles pointed out they could renovate the Hale house while living in town, he agreed. Besides, the forest starts right behind the Stilinski house and it’s not like Derek will exhaust himself by running to his property when he wants to go check up on it. When the Hale house is fixed and liveable once more, Stiles is planning on offering his house to Erica. She always liked his place and he knows she is sick of her own small apartment.  
  
All in all, Stiles is quite happy with life at the moment.  
  
Returning to the present, he faces Scott and Allison, smiling and offers, “You wanna come back for a cup of coffee?”  
  
“That’d be lovely,” Allison says and grabs Scott’s hand, trailing after Stiles and Derek towards the checkout.  


~ Finish ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and please leave a comment and/or kudos :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed folks and I'd be SO happy if you'd leave kudos and/or review :)


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